


Coffee and Scotch Make Bad Decisions

by blue_girl



Series: Frank Castle Just Wants to Sell Coffee, Dammit! [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_girl/pseuds/blue_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Castle was perfectly happy suffering insomnia, serving coffee and minding his own business. Until he made the colossal mistake of admitting to himself that he cared about the group of idiots he’d accidentally let into his life and everything went to Hell.</p>
<p>Now a mysterious and sinister corporation wants to buy his shop and he's forced to make new allies. (And try to win back old... friends.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee and Scotch Make Bad Decisions

There is a building in Hell’s Kitchen where an elderly widow keeps a collection of stray cats who yowl at the sound of sirens, an empty apartment is frequently used for midnight experimental theatre, and a man wakes up every morning at 6:45 and sings Sinatra in the shower. He has a beautiful tenor.

Frank Castle knows these things because for the past 5 weeks he hasn’t gotten one full night of uninterrupted sleep. A year ago that would have done little to bother him, a good night’s sleep was some ridiculous pipe dream. But over the past few months he’d found his life settling into an almost comfortable contentment and he’d become accustomed to drifting off easily.

That’s up until he made the colossal mistake of admitting to himself that he cared about the group of idiots he’d accidentally let into his life and everything went to Hell.

So now he’s back to staring up at his old, familiar ceiling fan, wishing the universe would take pity on him and make his overactive brain _Shut the Hell up!_

A sharp knock on his apartment door shakes him from his thoughts and he grimly picks himself up off his bed to answer it.

The man at Frank’s door is dressed in a well-tailored suit, hair slicked back and a pair of expensive looking glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose. Frank immediately decides he hates the guy.

“Not interested,” Frank grunts at him.

The man looks slightly taken aback and adjusts his tie.

“You know why I’m here?”

“Nope,” Frank says. “I just know I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”

“Ah, Mr. Castle, there lies the misunderstanding. It is you who I hope will be selling to us,” A practiced, salesman smile slides across the man’s face. “I represent a company known as Union Allied that deals in construction and real estate development. Our business has recently brought us to this neighbourhood and we are interested in purchasing the coffee shop you own. I believe we have already sent you letters about our eagerness for this transaction to happen?”

He pauses waiting for Frank to respond.

“Yeah. I got ’em.”

“Excellent. Then you know we are willing to compensate you very generously. A shrewd business man such as yourself is sure to have many more investment ideas-”

“Yeah like I said, not interested.” Frank starts to close the door but the man takes a step forward, his foot blocking the way.

“This is an extremely good deal sir,” he says and his slick, practiced tone lowers slightly. “My employer is _very_ keen for it to go ahead and I think you will find it is in your best interests to be keen as well.”

The smile is still on his face but Frank knows a thinly veiled threat when he hears one. And this one is _very_ thinly veiled.

But he has to start work, on very little sleep, in less than an hour and there is enough stressing him out already without adding whatever the hell this is. So he ignores the man’s words ( _which is a particular talent of his_ ) and unceremoniously kicks his foot away from the door.

“Think about it Mr. Castle,” he hears through the wood. “I know you won’t let this wonderful opportunity pass you by.”

_Guy,_ Frank wants to say back, _you have no idea of my capacity to fuck up the wonderful things that come into my life._

 

*             *             *

When his sole employee had inconsiderately gotten herself injured, Frank had been forced to hire someone to do her job while she recovered. He had spent a week half-heartedly cursing Elektra and grumbling and putting off advertising the position at the prospect of having to talk to people.

He was saved from the ordeal by, of all people, the surely dark haired girl Jessica, who was normally more monosyllabic than he was and rarely drank her coffee without adding a shot.

She stomps into the shop one afternoon while Frank is battling with a ten drink order, a figure trailing uncertainly behind her.

“Brought you a replacement Elektra,” she says, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

Frank looks up from adding cinnamon to a chai latte and peers at the person she’s gesturing at. He’s a slim black man with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and a tired, world weary demeanour that should feel out of place in someone so young. _Don’t want to know, Frank tells himself. He’s already got far too many people taking up space in his brain._

“He any good?” he asks, looking back to Jessica.

“I don’t fucking know, you make coffee not design rockets. He’s got hands so I figure I’ll probably end up getting my fix quicker than I have been recently.”

“I’ve worked in a couple of cafes,” the man interjects quietly. “I have references, if you’d like to see them.”

Frank shrugs and nods to the tray of mugs on the counter. “Table by the door. On a trial basis only.”

“Does this entitle me to free coffee?” Jessica tries.

Frank scoffs, “$2.40”

 

Malcom, Frank finds out that’s his name, ends up being a decent hire. He’s a hard worker and has a calming presence that permeates throughout a room. Even Frank’s rescue dog, Max is noticeably less jumpy since he started to work there. He seems to gauge early on that Frank’s not big on conversation so they soon slip into a pattern of comfortable silences.

This morning Malcom had opened up the shop so Frank comes in through the side door to find it already bustling with activity. He quickly throws on an apron and heads behind the counter to help Malcom fill orders for the line of haggard looking students at the till.

He’s halfway through making a Cappuccino when he notices a blue china patterned take-away mug sitting by the fridge.

Malcom looks up to see why Frank has suddenly stilled, he glances down at the mug.

“She, uh, had to dash off just as you got in,” he says with forced lightness in his voice. “Said she’d pick it up after her Newsroom Production class.”

Frank carries on making the drink, pretending that nothing had happened and is grateful that Malcom pretends the same.

 

*             *             *

 

The coffee shop shares an alley with various other establishments; a funeral parlour, a laundromat and a seedy looking bar called ‘Luke’s’.

Frank considers going in from time to time, it looks like the kind of place you could drink alone without being bothered, but he always concludes that time to ruminate on his life choices with the added bonus of alcohol is probably not a good idea.

As he’s taking out the trash late that night he sees Luke doing the same. ( _He presumes his name is Luke, they’ve never got much further than a quick evening greeting with each other. Frank likes that about the guy_.)

“You stay open at this hour and we’re competing for business,” the man remarks mildly.

“Doubt there’s that much crossover,” says Frank trying to avoid stepping on Max who always seems to think there is something in the bag for him.

Luke folds his arms and says, “Jessica Jones?” which makes Frank snort.

“She add coffee when you serve her whisky?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” Luke says thoughtfully. He gives Frank a calculating look and asks “You haven’t been approached by someone looking to buy your shop recently by any chance?”

“This morning.” Frank says, catching Max’s collar as he lunges towards Luke to see if he can scrounge a treat from the other man.

“I thought so,” Luke replies, his expression darkening.

“Something we need to worry about?”

“I don’t know yet, but Fogwell’s gym down the block? It closed a few weeks ago. Owner swore he would never sell it but apparently they did their research on him and he was persuaded to change his mind. I heard rumours about some…trouble.”

Frank straightens up from the dog who, having decided there is no food in the alley, is trying to heard him back inside. This morning dealing with this potential problem had seemed like a huge inconvenience, but maybe it was just the distraction from work that Frank needs _._

_Distraction from blue patterned coffee cups and the Girl who disappears at your arrival,_ his brain corrects him and something in Franks twists in on itself painfully.

“Well maybe we should do our own research first.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Luke says and heads back into the bar leaving Frank with that strange sensation in his chest, and an uneasy feeling about what was to come.

 

*             *             *

Frank Castle is not a delivery boy. But sometimes it is easier to just bring someone their damn coffee than have to deal with a series of increasingly long and waspish phone messages.

_God, he regrets the day he gave out his number to anyone, he should have known it would circulate and now everyone in the damn city seems to be able to get in touch with him. Maybe he should just get a burner phone. And move to South America._

Frank stops off at a flower shop on his way to Elektra’s apartment.

The last time, he had arrived at the hospital without flowers and had to listen to a sermon about Etiquette and Polite Society and How to Treat an Invalid. He buys a bouquet of peonies, which he knows are appropriate because Trish had done an item on her show about the meanings behind various flowers the following Sunday. Frank has no trouble believing that Elektra is responsible for that too. Only she could continue to efficiently run everything from her bed, with three broken ribs.

( _He also now knows that Sunflowers symbolise adoration and dedication, although why his brain is holding on to this piece of information he has no idea. He’s definitely not going to do anything with it.)_

Elektra’s place is enormous, but remarkably sparsely furnished. Only a few worn down looking pieces of furniture are scattered about and there is very little in the way of decoration. It’s a stark contrast to the way the woman presents herself to the outside world.

As he heads towards the couch to hand her a mug of coffee and the flowers he thinks he sees a punching bag out of the corner of his eye.

“So, what’s the gossip?” Elektra smiles, diverting his attention. “Come on! I’m going out of my mind with boredom here, give me something.”

Frank shrugs, innocently. “Been quiet.”

Elektra narrows her eyes at him and her expression turns dangerously playful.

“That’s funny,” she says in an almost sing-song voice, curling her legs under herself like a cat. “Miss Page said the exact same thing when she was here. Only she seemed to get rather flustered when I asked about you, more flustered then she is usually when talks about you, which I wasn’t sure was possible.”

Frank seems to have suddenly developed a heart murmur.

“Uhhhm, a man came to my apartment yesterday, said he represented some construction company that wants to buy the shop.”

“Well you’re not going to sell it to them obviously.” Elektra replies and looks out the window while she sips her coffee. She sounds dismissive but Frank knows her well enough now to hear that small part of her response that’s asking for reassurance.

“Obviously,” he says suppressing a smile. “But something tells me it’s gonna be hard to convince whoever he’s working for to take no for an answer.”

“Oooooo, sounds intriguing.”

_Oh God, he’s got enough trouble without Elektra looking to go out and break more bones playing spy again._

“It’s probably nothing.”

Franks stands and wipes his hands on his jeans,

“Better head back.”

Elektra waves him offhandedly away, but just as he reaches the door she calls out to him,

“Frank?”

He pauses and turns to see her still gazing out the window.

“Whatever this fight with Karen is about, it’s stupid. You should kiss and make up already, it’s getting really tiresome for the rest of us, you know.”

Frank closes her door a little harder than is totally necessary as he leaves.

 

*             *             *

Luke arrives in the shop on Monday morning and tells Frank the rest of what he’s heard about the newly closed gym.

It isn’t good.

Before they can get much further with their discussion however, Jessica disturbs them by falling ungracefully onto a bar stool with a loud “Oof”.

Frank raises an eyebrow at her. She’s here about 5 hours earlier than experience tells him he can reasonably expect her to be awake.

“Not slept yet. Can’t go home til Trish leaves for class or she’ll know _I’m_ not in class. Really don’t feel like the lecture today. From anyone, so-” She makes a _hurry it up_ movement with one hand.

Frank pours her drink with deliberately slow care and his lips quirk smugly at the death glare it earns him in return.

Jessica gulps down her coffee with a “ _Fuck! hot!_ ” Then she strips off her battered hoodie, scrunches it into a ball on the counter and collapses into it, clearly intent on ignoring both of them.

Luke’s expression is mildly amused, and there is something else there, _fondness_? He catches Frank’s eye and clears his throat, hastily continuing their interrupted conversation.

“So how do we find out more about Union Allied?”

“You should hire me to look into it,” Jessica mumbles into her makeshift pillow. “I charge quite a lot, but I am willing to offer you a discounted ‘friends and family’ style price. In exchange for _lots_ of coffee and scotch.”

“Hire _you_?” Frank doesn’t bother to hide the scepticism in his voice.

Jessica drags her head up from the counter as if it’s been stuck down with industrial glue.

“Yeah hire _me_. I’ve no idea what this is about but I would bet my dick you two idiots don’t have a clue what you’re doing. I, on the other hand, am a great investigator. Got my PI license when I was 19 - make a Veronica Mars joke big guy and I will end you.” Luke closes his mouth looking slightly sheepish and mildly disappointed.

_Frank thinks about people running from armed guards, and broken ribs, and a girl crying on his corner couch_.

“We can handle it ourselves.”

Jessica’s response is a snort.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not as soon as I'd hoped but the first chapter is finally up. I am really busy at the moment so this story might take a bit longer to update but I do have it planned out. 
> 
> Also, Oh No! not the quite the happily ever after yet it seems (and Karen will appear in the next chapter.)
> 
> So much thanks to everyone who left love on my last fic, you guys are amazing and I adore hearing your feedback!


End file.
